


Becoming (Broken) A Fighter

by sweetNsimple



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Murder, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Consensual Sex, Dark, Foreplay, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Miscarriages, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Military, Mother Rejects Child, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Raccoon City, Pre-Umbrella, Rimming, Self-Comfort, Top Nikolai/Bottom Sergei, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: In 1943, Sergei Boryevich Vladimirov was born. He almost tore her apart as he was pushed into the world with the last dregs of her strength, he was such a hefty infant. He wailed as if the world had done him wrong as nurses wiped him clean.She curled her arms toward her chest, reluctant to hold the loud, painful creature.~:~The year was 1980 and they were at war with Afghanistan. Sergei was attempting to start a much smaller war, the kind that only two people fought. The Major had been looking at him inappropriately ever since Nikolai’s arrival at the military base and it was pissing him off.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir, Sergei Vladimir & His Mother, Sergei Vladimir/Others Mentioned
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	Becoming (Broken) A Fighter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/gifts).
  * Inspired by [My Funny Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884081) by [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0). 



Anastasia Leonidovna Preobrazhensky was seventeen when she caught his eye. She hadn’t meant to. She hadn’t even wanted to. But the man followed her home and begged her parents for Anastasia’s hand in marriage. When they discovered that Borya Akimovich Vladimirov was a Counter Admiral in the Soviet Navy, they pushed Anastasia to accept the betrothal. Borya would keep her safe and happy, they said. To anger a supreme officer would only lead to bad things, they said. Anastasia warded off her fiancé’s advances until her eighteenth birthday when they were formally wedded and she had no choice left but to submit to him.

Anastasia was not a small woman. She was tall for her age and gender, having parents that were also tall, and grandparents that had been tall, and so forth. Since the time of her great-great grandparents, the Preobrazhensky line could not be overlooked due to their sheer height.

She was, however, very thin – willowy even – and Borya, who was some centimeters shorter than her, was built like a military tank. They had been compared to a sapling casting shade over a boulder.

Borya’s large hands could almost completely encircle her waist and he did not hold back his strength. He extoled her patriotic duty of motherhood, her responsibility to give life so that he could raise a fighter. If he saw her pain as he took her virginity, he did not show it.

She woke the next morning in agony and shock, marked by him in bruises and fluids. Borya was delighted in his young wife, himself being fifty-two years of age. He called her beautiful and tried voraciously each night to plant his seed in her womb. He badly wanted a child, his mind flooded with the pro-family propaganda of the Family Code of 1936. She was eighteen and wanted to go back home.

Eventually, Anastasia stopped crying whenever Borya pushed her into bed. She began to pray for a baby as well, hoping that he would stop touching her if she gave him what he wanted. Perhaps God did exist. Or, perhaps, the Devil had answered her cries. Her menstrual cycle stopped and her belly swelled. Borya mocked her, saying that pregnancy made her look unwell. It was true. She had lost weight with Borya, and she had already been so thin when she had married him. Now her belly bulged out and the rest of her body followed afterward like a thin twig that could snap under the pressure at any moment. Borya did not like how she looked pregnant, but he was ecstatic at the thought of siring such a large child. He was certain that they would produce a boy.

In 1943, Sergei Boryevich Vladimirov was born. He almost tore her apart as he was pushed into the world with the last dregs of her strength, he was such a hefty infant. He wailed as if the world had done him wrong as nurses wiped him clean.

She curled her arms toward her chest, reluctant to hold the loud, painful creature. Borya did not even notice her hesitation, swooping in and taking the boy into his own arms. He did not ask for her opinion as he named the boy and he did not offer to let Anastasia hold him.

She was, for the first time since finding out Borya did not want to touch her while she was expecting, relieved. The baby squealed and squalled and her hands balled into fists as his high-pitched shrieks drilled into her head and made her every bone ache with unending exhaustion.

She realized with horror that she already hated him.

When at last a nurse pleaded with Borya to give the baby to Anastasia so that she could breastfeed, she almost burst into tears. The creature was going to latch onto her nipple and feed like a leech? Like Borya after he drank too much and became deviant in bed?

She squeezed her eyes shut and looked away as a nurse rested the baby on Anastasia’s chest and taught the baby how to latch on. From there, the baby figured out quickly how to suckle.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she felt every wet pull and gumming bite like an invasion.

“You did it, Anastasia!” Borya cheered, either believing that she was crying from joy or not caring at all for her tears. He had seen them often by this time. “A healthy boy! He shall grow to be a fierce fighter!” He guffawed with proud laughter and Anastasia hated him too. She hated him even more.

She just wanted to go home.

Borya, instead, took her and the baby back to his house. Her prison.

~:~

As soon as Anastasia could get away with it, she weaned the baby. She had vivid nightmares of throwing the infant at a wall, of dropping the baby to the ground, of letting the boy slip from her hands during baths and watching him drown. She knew these visions were bad. She should be proud to be a mother. It was her patriotic duty to Russia, to the Soviet Union, to be a mother. Something, she knew, was very wrong with her.

Perhaps she deserved this. She thought long and hard about what she could have done to earn a husband like Borya and his leech of a child. She had been a good daughter, though, and studious in school. She had not even kissed a boy before her wedding night and she had gone to church. She had thanked God everyday that she was born in Russia where everyone was created equal and no one had more than anyone else.

The more she realized that she had done nothing to deserve this, the angrier she got. She ignored the baby for long periods of time, his screaming and crying grinding against her nerves, clawing behind her eyes and ringing in her ears. As much as she wanted him to _shut up_ , she despised the sight and feel of him too much to approach.

She was going to Hell, she eventually decided. She was an awful mother. That meant she was an awful person. The Devil would take her at the end of her life. She prayed it came soon.

When Sergei was nine months old, Borya again pushed her nightgown up and her panties down and demanded she perform her patriotic duty. She was young and healthy, he claimed, though she looked like a skeleton and the bruises under her eyes from long, sleepless nights made her appear dead. He was ready for a second child. Russia needed more people.

Something was wrong with her body, though. Her menstrual cycle had stopped two months ago. It couldn’t be a pregnancy because Borya had been away that month, fulfilling his obligations to the Soviet Navy. Borya at first didn’t believe her and beat her, thinking she had cheated. When she failed to show any other signs of pregnancy, however, and a doctor confirmed that she was not pregnant, his rage cooled and he apologized for his rash behavior.

She was wearing a cast for her broken arm and her lip was cracked after his “rash behavior”.

He tried anyway. To have another baby with her, that was. The seed would not catch.

Borya stayed away from home for longer periods of time, feeling like a traitor to his country that his wife had only brought one child into the world and refused to bring another. Whenever he was home, he would only spend time with Sergei, playing childish games with the toddler and telling Sergei how he would someday be a great fighter.

~::~

Sergei was two and he had stopped crying. She sometimes checked on him in fear that he had perished and she would be blamed for his death. It was strange. The child was strange. She would find him lying on his front, his knees tucked up against his belly and his arms curled under his chest until he was a small, self-contained ball of limbs. He was always awake when she checked on him and his gunmetal grey eyes, just like hers, would stare at her without blinking. He appeared just as unsure of what to do with her as she felt about him.

She carefully picked her way across his bedroom as if approaching a rabid beast. “I don’t think I’m a good mama,” she told him honestly as she kneeled with great care by his bed. He watched her quietly. “I hate you and I don’t know how to love you.”

He very slowly reached out to touch her. He was large for his age and yet still so tiny compared to her. His pudgy fingers almost touched her long, white-blonde tresses before she jerked away. She couldn’t do it. His touch repelled her just like his father’s.

The child whimpered and tucked his arm back under his chest. He hesitated for a moment and then pulled his hand back out only to very gently rub a strand of his own hair between two fingers and a thumb.

Anastasia glanced around the room. Borya had left a hardcover on the child’s dusty book shelf titled _The Poems, Prose, and Plays of Pushkin_. There were toys of soldiers and war horses and nothing else. The only soft things in the child’s room were the bed, blanket, and pillow he laid on.

Without another word, she stood up and left the room.

~:::~

They could both be fined if Borya attempted to divorce her, and they would have to make an appearance in public court as well as have their business discussed in the local newspaper. She knew he still considered it, though. Her body was all wrong now, ruined, and her last two pregnancies following Sergei had ended in stillborns. Sergei was 8 years old now and she daydreamed around wrapping her hands around his chubby throat and squeezing until he stopped existing.

She was secretly glad that the last two children had known better than to be born alive. She wished Sergei had been born dead.

At the age of 8, he found some form of daring from a friend he had made in school. He tried to talk to her in the mornings and evenings. He would wear her apron and try to help her with chores. He had taken with gusto to the act of drying dishes after she had washed them, standing so closer to her that she wanted to snap her teeth at him like a cornered animal.

This forced contact with the child was overwhelming. He babbled to her about his day at school, about his friend, about his thoughts. He had pointless questions about life.

“I found a blue flower and it had six petals. Then I found a red flower and it had nine petals. Why don’t they both have nine petals?”

“Dimitri told me that God is crying when it rains. Is that true?”

“If I jump really high, can I land on the moon?”

“Sometimes, I like to meow like a kitten. Am I a kitten, mama?”

Her jaw was clenched tight. She felt that her lungs were starved for oxygen as her breath sawed through her flared nostrils. She had never before been so aware of her every muscle and it felt like she might hurt the child if she lost even the slightest bit of control over herself.

Her throat was tight and her chest was burning.

Sergei lightly wrapped his pudgy little fist in the hem of her sweater, tugging. “Do I sound like a kitten, mama? _Meow_!”

He was _touching_ her.

Anastasia didn’t even think. She simply reacted. She whipped the pot she had been washing straight for the child and it struck his arm with a _crunch!_ He screamed as he fell to the ground, is forearm oddly bent. His crying wouldn’t stop!

“Shut up,” she hissed. And then, louder. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut _up_! Shut up before I strangle you to death! _Shut up_!”

He swallowed his cries of pain, looking up at her with wide, wet gunmetal grey eyes. He curled his broken arm to his chest and brought his legs into his belly, making himself small.

“P-please don’t h-hurt me, mama,” he begged.

Anastasia laughed. Tears trekked down her cheeks and she laughed like she had lost her mind and she couldn’t stop! “D-don’t hurt _you_?” she screeched, and she was laughing and yelling and sobbing. Her mind felt fractured. “Don’t hurt _you_!”

Her laughter faded away and she was left to cry weakly over his cowering form.

He sniffled pathetically. “A-are you ok-kay, mama?”

She shook her head slowly and collapsed to her knees beside him. “You need to get up,” she told him. “We need to get your arm fixed.”

“C-c-carry me?”

She blinked sluggishly and her mouth quivered in disgust. “Never,” she promised. “I carried you for nine months in my belly. Never again.”

He whimpered and clumsily got to his feet, trying so very hard to be quiet as he did so.

He did not try to touch her again for a long time after that.

~:::~

It was the day after Sergei’s fourteenth birthday and he was evil. He was a stain on humanity. Clarity shined down upon Anastasia and she realized, suddenly, that she had never been a bad woman. She had simply given birth to a bad child.

“Papa took me to see a whore last night,” Sergei told her. Borya had returned Sergei in the morning and then left again. Anastasia was not sure if it was his duties that called him away or his lover that he sometimes brought to the house to parade in front of her.

“I cried,” he admitted softly. “She felt very soft and she held me… She said it was okay to cry the first time. Did you cry your first time?”

She stared at him blankly, a stove-hot skillet in hand.

“Close your eyes, Sergei,” she ordered softly. “I have a late gift for you.”

His eyes widened with shock and his breath caught. “You… You do? You… you got me a gift, mama?” She could see his hands clench in the material of his slacks just above his knees. His lips trembled as he tried to contain his emotions.

“Close your eyes,” she reminded him.

A delighted, bright smile broke across his face. He faced forward and closed his eyes, practically wiggling in his seat.

She picked up the skillet and approached him. “You are…” Her one hand hesitated before catching the back of Sergei’s shirt and pulling it up toward his shoulders. Sergei froze under her touch. “A _demon_.” She turned the skillet in her other hand, pulled back her arm, and swung as hard as she could at his back.

When he had broken his arm years ago, he had wailed in pain. That event was nothing compared to the bloodcurdling banshee _scream_ that ripped free of his throat this time. He arched away from her, away from the pain, but the skillet was hot and it melted his skin. His hands scrabbled at the table, legs kicking. He only eventually tore free of the searing agony by collapsing from his stool. He landed on his hands and knees and tried to crawl away, his shoulders shaking as he failed to swallow his cries and whimpers.

“I don’t deserve this,” she said. She followed after him, skillet in hand. “I don’t deserve _you_.”

“Mama, p-pl-ease!” he begged. “I-I’m sorry! Please, m-m-mama!” He sobbed. “I-I would d-do an-n-nything f-for you. I j-just want you t-to be happy…”

“Liar!” she hissed. “If that was true, you would never have been born.” She braced herself and raised the skillet over her head with both hands. She threw her entire weight behind her next swing and smacked the heavy iron between his shoulders. He hit the ground so hard that his chest bounced off the kitchen floor and he went limp.

Anastasia stood there, unable to trust in her senses. Had she… had she killed him? Had she finally gotten rid of him?

For the first time in what felt like Sergei’s entire existence, a smile began to pull at her gaunt face.

“Anastasia?”

She looked up. Borya stood in the kitchen entrance, his face slack in shock.

Anastasia raised her skillet again. It was time to free herself from this prison.

With a mighty war cry, she launched herself at Borya, the man who had abused and used her for almost half of her life. However, even though she was taller and carried her heavy iron skillet, it only took a moment for the fight to be beaten from her. He easily plucked the weapon from her hands and kicked her legs out from under her. Sprawled across the floor, his boot came down on her ribs, stomping until something _cracked_ and the back of her throat tickled with the heavy taste of metal.

“N-no… No, papa…” Sergei was trying to pick himself up. He vomited messily on the floor. “No, not… not mama…”

“Let her go, Sergei!” Borya snarled. Pain was a very distant friend and her vision was going grey. She coughed and wheezed and there was blood dribbling out of her mouth. Breathing had never been so difficult. “She has earned this. She is a mad woman!”

“Mama…”

“I said, let her go!” Borya stepped over her body and wrenched Sergei to his feet by a shoulder. The boy cried out in pain. “I will take care of this, my son.” Borya pressed a kiss to Sergei’s forehead. “Go lay down in your bed. When you wake up, she will be gone.”

Anastasia’s gunmetal grey eyes met Sergei’s. There was horror and pain and fear in his eyes.

He had, she realized with confusion, loved her for some reason.

Her lungs rattled in their broken cage of ribs. After years of wishing for it, Anastasia finally escaped her prison.

~::::~

“You are too soft,” Borya was telling Sergei. His mother had passed away four months ago after allegedly falling down the stairs in their house. The funeral was a few short days later. After two months, Borya remarried. His new wife was already expecting. Now that Borya had more than one child, he no longer seemed content with Sergei’s incredible academic intellect. He wanted his son to begin building his military career and to stop crying as well.

Borya hated how often Sergei cried.

“You are not a fighter, you are an infant.”

“I am sorry, papa.”

Borya scoffed. “I do not want your apologies, your words mean nothing to me. I want to see improvement! I want to see you become a fighter. Saint Petersburg will make you strong.”

Saint Petersburg Suvorov Military School was a boarding school for boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. Borya had told him that he would spend the next four years of his life at Saint Petersburg learning military related subjects.

Sergei ducked his head. “Yes, papa. I will get strong.”

He held the hem of his shirt between his pointer and middle fingers and his thumb, rubbing the cotton material.

His back still ached.

~:::::~

_Twenty-three years later…_

“Aren’t you a pretty one, my friend,” purred a deep voice.

Nikolai sighed. “Major Vladimirov,” he drawled. “A pleasure.”

He had had the misfortunate of meeting Sergei Vladimirov for the first time three days ago when Nikolai’s unit arrived at the Uzbekistani military base just outside of Afghanistan. The year was 1980 and they were at war with Afghanistan. Sergei was attempting to start a much smaller war, the kind that only two people fought. The Major had been looking at him inappropriately ever since Nikolai’s arrival and it was pissing him off.

“Please!” the Major chirped. “Call me Vladimir. Vladimirov was my father.”

Nikolai squinted at him. “Yes… Yes, that is how surnames work.”

Sergei smiled. “I inherited nothing from my father after he tragically passed away. I don’t particularly care to inherit his name either. Isn’t it awful enough that my middle name is Boryevich? Please, Vladimir, if you would.”

That was a confusing statement and Nikolai was discomforted by the glinting light in the older man’s grey eyes. “Tragically?” Nikolai repeated.

“Yes… He fell down the stairs.”

Somehow, Nikolai doubted that. However, he did not care enough to continue the conversation. “Fine,” he said. “ _Vladimir_.”

“Was that so hard?” Sergei did not choose his own showerhead to stand under. He instead pressed himself against Nikolai to properly drench his white locks under Nikolai’s nozzle. Soaked, Sergie’s hair fell out of its neat coif. His immense frame and steely muscles radiated heat.

“What are you _doing_?” Nikolai snarled.

“I am getting your attention,” Sergei purred.

Nikolai gritted his teeth. “Fine! Alright!” He glanced around and found, fortunately, that they were alone. He lowered his voice. “ _Why_ are you doing this? Are you baiting me?”

“Yes,” Sergei admitted. He dropped his head and dragged his tongue over the shell of Nikolai’s ear. “I’m lonely,” he whined. “I want attention.”

“I want you to _back_ the _fuck_ off, _Major Vladimir_.”

“I know how to make you feel good!” Sergei sang into his ear. “I’m very good at sex.”

“Fantastic.” Nikolai jumped as a hand grabbed his ass. “That was not an invitation! Do you know what would happen if anyone saw us right now? We could get _killed_. Do you want that? Do you want to die that badly?” It was not that Nikolai had not fucked men before. He was actually quite good at it. The issue was that he had a strong sense of self-preservation and the Major was revealing himself to be a complete fucking idiot.

The Major hummed in thought. At last, he shrugged. “I’m not afraid to die. Are you, my friend?” He rolled his hips against Nikolai’s side. Even limp, he had an impressive cock.

Nikolai considered the behemoth rubbing against him. At last, with a scowl, he picked up his small bar of soap, water still pouring down on them, and rested his other hand on Sergei’s waist.

“If we do this, we do it my way,” he commanded.

Interest sparked in Sergei’s eyes. “Are you going to hurt me, Nikolai?” he purred. “Are you going to leave marks on me that will stay for the rest of my life?”

Nikolai stared at him, dumfounded. “Who have you _been_ with? No.”

The Major’s childish smile slipped into a confused frown.

Nikolai huffed and pushed the Major in front of him. “Chest to the wall, Major Vladimir,” he ordered. There was a slight hesitation before Sergei obeyed, his arms pressed against the cold tiles as well from elbows to palm. He shuddered at the sensation of the cold surface against his heated skin.

Nikolai scrubbed the bar of soap between his hands to build up suds and then pushed his palm between Sergei’s buttocks.

Sergei gasped. “You waste no time, _Kolya_!”

“I did not give you permission to call me that,” Nikolai groused. Considering what they were doing though, he decided to let it go. “And I don’t know what you mean.” The bar of soup was rough and would have scratched the soft, sensitive skin. With his hand, he washed Sergei from balls to cleft. Sergei was tense against him.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, _Kolya_ ,” he admitted.

“I’m _cleaning_ you,” Nikolai explained impatiently. “I’m not putting my mouth on a dirty asshole, not even for a commanding officer.”

Incredibly, Sergei _sputtered_. “W-what?”

“I’m somewhat of a strange man,” Nikolai admitted. “Ah, you’ll see for yourself.” He did manage to wiggle one finger into Sergei’s ass. He startled at how loose and relaxed the Major was, as if he had done this many times.

He considered that as he carefully added a second soapy finger, washing as deep inside of the older man as he could reach. Sergei sighed with pleasure.

“Do you often want attention?” Nikolai asked.

“Yes!”

“Just men?”

Sergei chuckled. “Not just men. It just so turns out that I see more men in my line of work than women these days.”

“You’re a whore,” Nikolai realized.

“Whores get the most attention,” Sergei burred. He thrust his hips back into Nikolai’s hand.

Nikolai rolled his eyes skyward. “Fucking your way through the Soviet Army… How are you still alive?” Surely, at some point, Sergei had offered to have sex with the wrong man? The kind of man who would take it upon himself to kill a homosexual?

Sergei pressed his cheek to the wall and looked at him over his shoulder with a heavy-lidded eye. “No one has killed me yet,” he answered simply.

The younger man bobbled his head and realized that the Major made sense. “Fair enough.” He pulled his fingers free. Sergei let loose an offended growl, pushing his ass out to follow.

“Did you have fantasies of deflowering a virgin?” Sergei teased with a bite to his tone. “Do you not want me now?”

“Why do you talk so much?” Nikolai dropped to his knees behind Sergei. The hard floor was unforgiving against his knees and the air was cold with the water falling down on them gradually losing heat as they overstayed their welcome. Nikolai, at least, was under the remaining spray while Sergei stood just outside of it. Despite how cold the Major had to be, he did not even shiver.

“What are you doing?” Sergei asked.

“What I want,” Nikolai replied. He pulled those tight cheeks apart and swiped his tongue from taint to cleft. As he had hoped, Sergei tasted of soap and only some musk.

Sergei _shrieked_ , jumping in place. “Did you just – ?”

“All of this attention you get,” Nikolai taunted. “And no one has ever done this to you before?”

Sergei, at last, seemed to be at a loss for words.

Nikolai smirked and then buried his face in the Major’s ass. His nose was pressed into the crack between buttocks as he lapped greedily at a loose, pink sphincter. Sergei gasped, the muscles in his calves and thighs already shaking.   
The younger man had to use his hands to keep Sergei’s cheeks apart. However, larger hands came over his, holding them for him.

“P-please,” Sergei begged, and he begged so easily. So quickly. “Please touch me…”

Nikolai moved his hands, skittering his fingers over pale hips and then rubbing his palms into defined abdominals. He pointed his tongue and began to thrust it against Sergei’s unresisting hole, sinking inside of him easily.

Sergei keened, a high-pitched, wanton noise. He kept his cheeks apart for Nikolai, spreading his legs even further. “More, oh, please, more, _Kolya_.”

Nikolai’s one hand found the Major’s cock to already be half-erect. He jerked the older man off as he slurped messily at his hole before plunging his tongue back inside. Sergei _moaned_ , his hips gyrating back into Nikolai’s mouth. Nikolai’s other hand went under Sergei’s cock to fondle his heavy balls. He felt them draw up and tighten in his grasp.

“You are so _good_ to me!” Sergei cried. “This feel so _good_!”

Nikolai pulled back just enough to scrape his teeth over Sergei’s winking slit and down his taint. The older man _shook_ , his breathing ragged. His cock was now completely hard as Nikolai pumped it. Where Nikolai’s shoulders and arms were pressed against the Major, he could feel the older man’s muscles shivering.

He turned his head and nipped at a broad hand. He redirected and sucked a mouthful of cheek.

“Oh, _Kolya_ ,” Sergei groaned. “Don’t stop.”

“No worries,” Nikolai rumbled as he dragged his tongue back to the other man’s sopping hole. “I’m not done yet.”

The hand he had on Sergei’s testicles, he now moved behind them. Halfway between the Major’s balls and his sphincter, Nikolai firmly rubbed him with two knuckles. Sergei almost toppled to the ground, crying out.

“What is that?!” Sergei bellowed.

Nikolai cackled and pressed a kiss to the Major’s tailbone. “Every man you have slept with was a mere boy,” he decided. “Inexperienced and clumsy. No skill, no talent. You severely undervalued yourself, Major Vladimir.”

“Tell me what you just did!”

“Did no one tell you that you can massage your prostate from the outside?” The hand he had been using to jerk Sergei off drifted upward. As he kept his other fingers on Sergei’s perineum, he rubbed his other palm firmly down in a circular motion between Sergei’s pubic bone and navel. The older man groaned weakly, his cock jumping toward his belly. He was dribbling pre-cum liberally, moments away from orgasm.

“Mm. My turn now.” Nikolai got to his feet with a curse, his knees throbbing.

Sergei swallowed thickly. “W-what?”

Nikolai pressed himself against the older man’s back. There was at least thirteen centimeters of height difference between them, he thought. Fortunately, Sergei had spread his legs so much that there was no need for any awkward bending or repositioning. Nikolai tugged at his own pulsing dick to make it slick with water and his pre-cum.

“This is going to burn,” he warned Sergei.

The Major laughed breathlessly. “Only that?”

“Your taste in lovers is deplorable.” He nestled his forehead between Sergei’s broad shoulders. It was impossible to ignore the old burn marks on the Major’s back, but Nikolai had not lived as long as he had by asking about other men’s scars. He pressed a light kiss to glossy white, raised flesh and Sergei sobbed like he had been wounded.

“Do I need to stop?” he asked sharply. Every man, woman, and child in Russia was raised to believe that all homosexuals were rapists and child molesters. The absolute last kind of bullshit he had to deal with was actually proving those rumors to be true, even accidentally. 

“No,” Sergei answered softly. He butted his ass against Nikolai’s leaking cock. “Please… Please, _Kolya_ , I need this.” His forehead was pressed to the wall, his expression hidden from Nikolai. He lifted his arms and pressed his wrists into the surface above his head in such total surrender that Nikolai growled victoriously in his chest like a beast.

The younger man led his cock to Sergei’s sphincter. With a slow, shallow roll of his hips, his glans popped inside of the larger man.

Sergei rumbled. “ _Yes_ ,” he crooned. “Yes, this I know… Don’t be afraid to get rough with me, my friend. I can handle it.”

“Hm,” was all Nikolai said in return. He wrapped one arm around Sergei’s chest so that his wandering fingers could find small, pebbled nipples. The first one his palm dragged across he began to tease by lightly scratching it. He kept his hips still for another minute, merely letting his hand twist and tug and pull and scratch. Sergei was, at first, unmoved by the attention to his chest. As sensations built up, however, as sensitivity grew due to continued abuse, he began to pant from the sweet torture of having his nipple assaulted alone. When he arched his chest into Nikolai’s hand, that was when the smaller man pulled back and then thrust forward, burying himself halfway inside of his lover.

Sergei choked on air and then mewled.

Nikolai cackled. “You sound like a kitten.”

Sergei was quiet for a moment. “Again…”

Nikolai’s fingers walked to the other nipple. Sergei groaned as soon as he touched it, knowing what was to come and relishing it.

Nikolai pinched the nipple between his pointer finger and thumb pads and rolled it. Every second roll, he pulled, stretching the bud. The mixture of pleasure and pain made Sergei’s hips twitch minutely, his chest heaving.

Nikolai pulled his hips back and plunged completely inside of Sergei. As soon as he did, Sergei _wailed_ , his body going rigid. His ass clenched down on Nikolai like a tight fist and the Major clawed at the tiled walls. If he looked down, he knew he would be able to see the other man spatter cumming.

Nikolai’s arms dropped to Sergei’s waist, gripping him close. If Sergei collapsed, Nikolai was convinced he would end up falling with the behemoth. Fortunate for the both of them, Sergei managed to lock his trembling knees in place. He panted for air as he came down from his orgasm, random muscles jumping and twitching.

Suddenly, he whimpered. “You… You haven’t cum yet?”

“Very close,” Nikolai admitted, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, Vladimir. You might be annoying, but your ass makes up for all of your worst qualities.” He scraped his teeth over Sergei’s shoulder blade. “I don’t think you understand how hard I got just from eating you out.” He grinded his hips against Sergei’s backside. “Let me finish,” he said. “Want to fill you up…”

“Yes!” Sergei pushed back against him. He sucked in a deep breath, his body likely oversensitive. “Do it. Give me everything you have.”

Nikolai cursed softly and rubbed his forehead against the nape of Sergei’s neck. Using his arms around Sergei’s waist and his own hips, he managed to pull the larger man back every time he plunged forward. He heard the filthy noise of skin slapping against skin and he bared his teeth in a facsimile of a grin. Sergei was grunting against him, his body jerking as Nikolai hit his prostate and sent zings of electricity through his body.

As he had foreseen, it did not take much longer before he climaxed. Once he got past the foreplay, he liked to go fast and hard. Sergei’s tight bottom jiggling ever-so-slightly after every thrust certainly helped matters along. He stilled as he climaxed, his arms pulling Sergei flush against him and giving his lover no escape as Nikolai throbbed and released inside of him. His commanding officer sighed in bliss.

After a minute when Nikolai’s hands and feet had stopped tingling, he pulled away. He was particularly endeared by the sight of his cum trickling out of his lover’s red, wet hole, and took another moment to appreciate the sight. His hands held Sergei’s buttocks apart so that he could watch each pearly glob bubble out of his ass.

“Mm?” Sergei hummed. “What are you doing now?” He kept his face pressed against the wall.

“Enjoying the view,” Nikolai rumbled. He gave one buttock a light slap, not even enough force to sting. Sergei gasped. Nikolai’s eyes dragged like a physical touch up the line of his spine and blinked at the back of his head.

The younger man combed his fingers through Sergei’s soaked locks, using his grip on the Major’s hair to pull him off the wall. Nicholai had to lean up somewhat, but he managed to press a kiss to Sergei’s throat. “If you want more attention,” he offered. “Come find me. Stop letting selfish, lazy boys take advantage of your assets.”

Sergei _giggled_. Like a _child_. “Do not worry,” he slurred. “You are the first on my list now. My dear friend, you have ruined me for anyone else.”

“Yes, I am the best at what I do,” Nikolai agreed haughtily. “Now we must get washed all over again. And with cold water now!” That did put somewhat of a damper on his good mood. However, Sergei was still a hot wall of muscle against him and that abated the chill.

His cum dribbling down Sergei’s inner thigh quilled the rest of his upset.

“You are a beautiful man, Major Vladimir,” he admitted.

Sergei shuddered. “Oh,” he whispered.

Just that.

 _Oh_.

Like he had never considered it and had no idea how to even respond to the probability of it.

Nikolai did not have any reassuring or uplifting words, so he said nothing. He just pressed another kiss between Sergei’s shoulder blades and moved over the next showerhead. Sergei sloppily cleaned himself off as if he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t even touch the cum marking his ass and thighs. After the laziest wash ever, Sergei turned off the water and sauntered into the adjoining locker room. Nikolai, having brusquely scrubbed himself down, followed.

Sergei dried his hair, his feet, and his torso. He only carefully patted around his ass, leaving smears of seed behind.

“You should clean up,” Nikolai told him.

Sergei turned and smiled at him. “I like it. It serves as a reminder that I got attention.”

Nikolai softly closed his eyes and sighed. He opened them a moment later and stalked forward. “Alright, Sergei,” he said. “You’re not leaving all that filth behind.”

“I can have you for insubordination,” Sergei all but sang. “You do not make the rules here, I do.”

Nikolai wrapped his hand around the back of Sergei’s neck and pulled him down into a fierce, open-mouth kiss. His tongue swirled past Sergei’s lips and tasted the roof of his mouth, felt the texture of his tongue, and ran over the indentations of his teeth. By the time he pulled away, Sergei had once more completely surrendered, his arms around Nikolai’s waist and practically lifting him off the floor for a deeper kissing experience.

“No filth,” he growled against Sergei’s lips. “Clean yourself up right and I’ll give you more kisses.”

It wasn’t a hardship for Nikolai. Sergei, for his size and military prowess, was a surprisingly sweet and submissive lover. Nikolai was not opposed to making the giant shake and shiver for him.

“Yes, _Kolya_ ,” Sergei chirped. He rubbed himself down more thoroughly, his gunmetal grey eyes dazed and distant as if he was walking on clouds.

They got dressed side by side and left separately.

Perhaps the Major was not so bad, Nikolai decided. A strange man, but Nikolai had not lived this long by questioning other men’s scars.

**Author's Note:**

> AnotherAnon0 got me thinking about child psychology with their incredible story, 'My Funny Valentine'. I actually meant to discuss comfort items like security blankets and stuffed animals, but I instead ended up talking about a different coping mechanism altogether? I had this very soft idea of someone giving Sergei a silk and minky baby blanket as an adult since no one ever gave him a comfort item as a child, but then this happened instead? I hope it does not disappoint. Please let me know how it makes you feel.  
> I began proofreading this story at 5:24 IN THE MORNING, WHAT THE HELL AM I STILL DOING AWAKE? HOLY SHIT, WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN? I completed proofreading at 6:38 in the morning, so, I assure you, something is going to be wacky. I must sleep now.


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